Katana
by SelfDestructIn54321
Summary: Kattalia Fray is warrioristic thirteen year old mundie girl-or so she thinks, but, when "random" burgulars kill her parents, she is taken the to the hospital, where a woman turns her into the Clave, and her father. T for violence and language. And my impending paranoia. Slightly iffy on the genres.
1. Chapter 0

In honor of COHF (don't know when it came out, but I got it in May)! Disclaimer: I own nothing. So, listen to Linkin Park's "Keys To The Kingdom" while you read this. 'Tis awesome.

Prologue

On the day Kattalia Fray's parents died, the weather was bad. Kat didn't care; she was sitting in the living room with a mug of hot chocolate and a TV tray in front of her. The wood—it looked pine—was glossed over for easy cleanup and probably older than Kat herself. Her sketchbook was folded open, the spiraled edges of it touching the thin, small pile of colored pencils next to it. An anime portrayal of her mother, thin, pale, with curling red hair and a smile, looked up at her, but she wasn't paying any attention. She was watching her brother, Jonathon, mime getting stabbing the throat badly.

She laughed as he began playing the air guitar.

He was her younger brother, by almost five years, and he was more immature than her by a long shot, but she was very protective over him.

There was a crash; Jonathon had stopped miming, and looked scared.

Kat set down her coco and looked around, alert. The living room had two couches and a love seat in faded mismatched plaids of red and blue and green. The coffee table, stacked with paperback books, was stained cherry wood, thickly ringed with imprints of wet glasses. The fireplace blazed quietly.

Luke Garroway, Kat's mother's fiancé, had muted the TV on the Frosty the Snowman marathon that nobody was really watching.

Jocelyn, Kat's mother, was pale.

Kat gently patted the couch cushion next to her, and Jonathon went and sat next to her.

"I'll go and . . . ," Luke said, grabbing a shovel from the fireplace before walking cautiously downstairs.

"I've got to go check on the girls," Jocelyn said suddenly, sharply, and hurried down the hallway. Her accent, French and thicker than the ghost of Luke's, rubbed through. Jocelyn had never lived in the UK, but probably wouldn't have told Kat if she had.

There was another crash, and Kat gasped.

"Kattie . . . ," Jonathon whined, eyes big, skin pale, then jumped as it came again.

"It's—mmm—"she said as the front door slammed shut, "—okay, everything's fine."

There was really no reasonable reason for them to be scared. There could be any amount of explanations to the sounds, and—

"Dad!" Exclaimed Jonathon, at the sudden yell and bang that had ripped through the house. He'd stood up. He'd never called Luke "Dad" before.

"Jonathon—"

"No! We have to go—"

"Be quiet! Let's go peek."

Kattalia grabbed her brother's arm and jerked him down the stairs.

Be brave, she was telling herself. For Jonathon.

She was biting through her lip.

Too soon, the stairs were gone, and with them, the railing in which Kattie had been using to hold herself up.

Luke was there. The shovel was on the floor. Three men, with ski masks covering their faces, were coming at her almost-stepfather.

"Dad!" Exclaimed Jonathon again, and Luke looked up. His glasses were smashed.

"Kat—"Luke broke off with a yell as one of the guys punched him in the stomach. "Katana—protect your siblings—"Luke crumbled to the ground.

"Jonathon—"Kat's tone was quick, urgent. "Go to mom—go—protect the girls—"Kat pushed her brother behind her and waited for him to run before she began to stumble backwards up the stairs herself.

"Kat—the office—the key—in the, the—the desk." Luke trailed, and Kat spotted a bit of blood coming from his ear.

Kat turned and ran. She ran upstairs, sharply turned down the hallway on the left and flung open the door to the office.

She went immediately to the desk, and flung open the top drawer. The key was just sitting there. How have I not found that before and snuck it?

Kat had known what Luke had meant the moment he'd described a key: a closet-like room that had been forbidden for years, off of the office.

Kat remembered it from when they'd first moved in. They'd lined it in mirrors, she saw as she opened the door, and shelves, as well, and, though it shouldn't be to a thirteen year old girl, it was beautiful. There were guns, and knives, and swords, and ammo.

Kattalia shook her head to clear it, and grabbed a knife off of a shelf, considered the thought that they should have invented a better way to store weapons, and turned the blade so it glinted in the light.

She turned around and stabbed one of the masked men that had been downstairs in the gut before she could think. He fell to the ground and Kat's adrenaline stalled her panic and shock enough so that she began to run.

Halfway down the stairs, she stopped, looking forward and behind her: the man she'd stabbed was hurrying after her, and the other two were racing up the stairs in front of her. She cursed.

Then, she stuck the dagger between her jeans and belt and pulled up the sleeves of her hoodie, and threw herself off the railing.

Luke Garroway began to crawl forward, but his head hit the carpet.

Exhausted. He was exhausted.

Not yet, he thought. I've got to warn Jocelyn. I've got to help her . . . .

Luke wasn't really all that worried about Jocelyn's eldest daughter. Kattalia may be reckless and daring and sarcastic, but she had a warrior's soul, and Luke knew she'd be the best Shadowhunter Idris would see if her mother would let her be it.

Luke grabbed a fistful of the Persian rug and pulled, dragging himself along the stairs and trying not to scream.

If he were still a Shadowhunter, and maybe if he could find Jocelyn's stele . . . but he wasn't a Shadowhunter, and runes wouldn't work on him, anyways.

He pulled himself along again, grunting.

Kattalia climbed along the stairs, hands on the bar under the railing, pawing downwards, her legs dangling. She hung on until she got to the stairs, where she flipped around, grabbed the back of a step, and then dropped.

She landed in crouch under the stairs, and made as little sound as she could. She grabbed the knife, took a deep breath, and sprinted.

The robbers started yelling and barreling down the stairs. Kat streaked behind the corner and then froze, almost overbalancing.

Someone upstairs was screaming.

Kat spun, running back towards the threat, and knowing all the while that she was stupid for doing it.

She didn't care; her family was in trouble, and she wasn't going to let them die because some poor ass homeless robbers chose her house.

Kattie toed up the stairs, trying to be quiet, and ran into the girls' room: pink and white and bunk beds, color-coded bedspreads, with drawers under the bottom bunks for space. A single crib sat across from the door.

Jonathon was in front of the crib, clutching his mother's keys like they were knives, and Jocelyn was on the ground in front of him. There were bruises across one side of her face and blood was dripping out of one of her ears. The baby, Anne, red-faced and screaming like a demon-child, quieted down when she saw Kat in the doorway.

Jonathon dropped to his knees and began to cry over their mother; the others—four girls, Page, Sabrina, Rosetta, and Margaret—sat shocked in their bunks.

"Uhh!" Kat exclaimed, and sprawled across the ground, the person who'd pushed her standing over her. He withdrew a gun from his coat, and pointed it at Kat, and he was squeezing on the trigger, and Kat was locking eyes with the man, and then, just as the bullet came out—

Jonathon had thrown her across the room with strength she didn't know he'd possessed. "Not her!" Jonathon yelled at the man. "She's my sister!"

The man—the cop—looked at Jonathon. "She has a knife."

"That I used to hurt the fucking robbers—I didn't hear a gunshot. Didn't you kill the—"

The cop was ignoring her, and talking into his walkie-talkie. "We have six minors," He was feeling Jocelyn's pulse. "Two dead upon arrival, and one of the minors has a knife,"

"I'm thirteen!" Kat yelled. Then, she registered his words. "Dead—what do you mean dead—"She struggled up from the ground, sped toward the doorway. The cop caught her, but she struggled. "Luke—Luke! Luke! Lu—"There was a pinch and her hip, and then . . . . Nothing.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Kattalia Fray sat straight up with a gasp, and threw herself out of bed, then froze two inches short of the nightstand and jerked her wrist. "They handcuffed me?" She asked the air.

"Kattalia . . . Morgenstern?" Asked a nurse, parting the curtain.

"Fray. Kattalia Fray." Kat corrected automatically.

"Right. Yes, your name is Morgenstern."

"What the fuck? Why'd you ask me then, if you're gonna use a fake name anyway?" Kat asked, jerking her wrist. "Why did you handcuff me— You tattooed me?! Holy shit, mom's gonna kill me— Where's my mother?! Where's Jonathon—JONATHON!" She screamed. "ANNE! PAGE!"

"Do we need more sedative in here?" Asked a passing nurse.

"No," Said the nurse in her room, and smiled. "We're just fine."

"Please don't—please—"

"Look at your hand." Commanded the girl—Dr. Smith, grabbing her wrist. "Do you want me to sedate you again?!" Kat went still, teeth pressing together hard, and eyes smoldering with rage, and looked down at her hand.

There was an eye on it, painted in black ink. It wasn't the original tattoo she was bugged about—the first being the star on her upper arm, which was presently disappearing. Dr. Smith turned her wrist so the eye on Kat's hand was no longer visible; she grabbed something out of her white lab coat, and started to put it to Kat's skin. Kat saw the same tattoo—the eye—on Dr. Smith's left hand that was on Kat's right.

"No—"Shouted Kattalia, panickingly throwing herself at the other side of the bed to get away from the doctor, who now held what looked like a weird-as-Hell knife. "Get away from me!"

"Stop it!" Hissed Dr. Smith. "I'm not going to— Look." She traced a star like the one that was no longer on Kat's arm on her own, then looked at Kat pointedly. "See?"

Kat shook her head wildly, and struggled, but between the handcuffs on her left wrist, and Dr. Smith holding onto her right one, she couldn't really do much. Dr. Smith pressed the knife to Kat's wrist; Kat closed her eyes, waiting for the pain, and looked up when she heard clicking keys.

Dr. Smith was at the computer. She typed what was probably less than a line, and then grabbed a notebook, scribbling on it with a pen, and figured something with the knife . . . pen-thing and it flared into fire.

Kat looked at her wrist; three overlapping circles were sketched on her skin. "What is this?" Kat asked. The skin around it was pale, not irritated in the least.

"It will hide you," Said the doctor, who held out a hand to Kat. "Clary."

"K—"Started Kat.

"Oh, I know you; Katana, right?"

"Um . . . yes. Katana."

"Yeah, Katana, I reported you to the Clave, not that you'll know what that means, but they're coming for you in about ten minutes."

Kat jerked away from her; her face turned into rage-full mask. "Not Jonathon?" She asked dangerously. "Not Anne or Page or Rosetta? Right?"

"No. I've only reported you."

Kat exhaled. "Fine—hey!" She exclaimed at the sting at her hip. "Why do you people keep doing this to me—"

And then Kat saw nothing.

**VERY short, but the next chapter is bigger, I promise. I own nothing. Oh, and, for those of you who care, I'm changing my name—so look out for that, mann. And, though I'll still describe outfits, I got polyvore account! I'm eerieeyredd. Kat's outfits for here and the next chapter are on it.**


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Kat's head hurt. Something bumped underneath her; she blinked her eyes open, expecting to see bright morning light filtering through her blinds, the quilts of her bed, the purple walls of her room.

Instead, Kat saw a suitcase, the clamshell kind, but rectangular-ish.

Kat sat straight up, and looked down at herself; she wore her same olive-colored skinny jeans, her same gray tee shirt, a size too big, her black converse. Kat sifted her hands through her hair; the same almost-black brown locks, severely tangled. She grabbed the suitcase. Inside sat clothes, tank tops and tee shirts and jeans, everything folded with the OCD level cleanliness that nobody Kat knew possessed but herself, except her underwear and bras, which were just thrown willy-nilly into the bottom of the suitcase, on top of her sketchpad; her oceanic coconut body wash, almond-scented lotion, and professional-grade shampoo and conditioner in one were thrown in on the top.

Kat looked up, eyes narrowing in confusion: there was only one bathroom in her house; how had anybody found and distinguished her things from Anne's or Jonathon's or her parents'?

There was another bump. Kat looked around, surveying her surroundings. She looked to be in a carriage: the doors, on each side of her, were windowed, with little curtains; the seats, lavender velvet, sat on each side as well. The suitcase had sat on the seat across from her. Her favorite pillow was on the seat she sat on, in its black-with-blue-ravens Divergent (**Tris's tattoo) **pillowcase to match the seat.

She looked out the window. Dark green grass formed a banner between the smooth, worn gray stones that made up a sort of road, and the emerald-leaved forest.

The view was the same on the other side.

Kat banged on the wall in front of her. "Hey!" She yelled. "Where the fuck am I?!" Nobody answered her. She leaned back, frustrated, and watched the scenery as it went by.

Kat saw the trees stop. She saw plains turn to large houses. She didn't see a lot of them, though, because the carriage stopped at the first house, which looked very new. Before anyone could come and get her, Kat jumped ship.

People were coming out of their houses to watch her curiously; a redhead who looked like Dr. Smith was coming out of her house, a tall blond dude next to her, another couple, the girl with black hair, and taller than the boy, who had brown hair and weirdly pale skin, were outside next to the redhead and the blonde.

Kat spun around. The person who'd grabbed her arm, a tall, black-haired man, stood in front of her. "Come with me," he said, and began corralling her toward the house.

Kat narrowed her eyes at the man. "Excuse me?" She asked vaguely, refusing to move. He put up a hand, probably to turn her around or push her, but she tilted her head. "If you touch me, I'll hurt you." She threatened.

The blonde guy shouted and started toward them; just as the man's fingers brushed her shoulder impersonally, he froze. In Kat's hand was a long, short dagger that she'd swiped from his belt, whose blade rested on the black-haired man's throat.

Everyone was silent. Then, all Hell broke loose.

The black-haired girl began running at her; the blond dude pushed her back, and the door behind her opened.

The blond guy helped her up from the ground where she'd fallen. "Jace," said the man behind her.

Kat turned around. "Who the Hell are you?" Kat asked blankly. Jace burst into laughter. When he was done, he gestured to the man in the doorway. "This is Julian Blackthorn," he said. "You'll be staying with him until your ancestry is sorted out."

"My ancestry is sorted out; my name is Kattalia Fray!" Kat exclaimed; the redhead who'd been next door pushed away the blonde.

"Your last name is Fray?" She asked.

"Yes . . . " Kat trailed.

"What was your mother's name?"

"Jocelyn. Why?"

"What—what did she look like?" The redhead asked wearily.

Kat locked eyes with her. Then, she turned away, grabbed her sketchbook from the carriage, and flipped to the page that she drawn her mother on; she handed it over to the redhead.

She gasped, and dropped the sketchpad. "That's my mom!" She exclaimed.

"Those are my drawings!" Kattalia exclaimed, and dove for it.

"Whoa," The black-haired girl was saying. "I've never seen anyone move that fast—except maybe Jace."

"And Sebastian." Jace said quietly. "Who's your father?"

"Luke." Kat said, clutching the sketchbook. "Er—I mean, Luke Garroway. Why?"

"Well-" Started The redhead.

"Wait a second." Kat said, and dug through the suitcase and retreived a bottle of pills, dry-swallowing one, and then turned to the others. "What?"

**I KNOW IT'S SHORT.**


	4. AN

**I'm sorry, guys, but I don't have any ideas for this story, so I'm putting it up for adoption. You want it, PM me. Sorry, lovelies.**

**- Cassie.**


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